Home is Where the Heart is
by shassie4ever
Summary: A series of Shassie oneshots. Fluff! Inevitably some angst and Hurt/Comfort. Warnings: Cuteness. Possible smut. Violence.
1. Chapter 1 Let's Be Alone Together

From here he could tell that something was off. The object of his affection, or as Gus would say, "stalking", was frowning, but not in an angry, I want to shoot anything that pisses me off kind of way, but a sad considering tears kind of frown.

He should have seen this coming. Even solving the murder at the observatory wouldn't take away the fact that last night he had been drowning his divorce sorrows in a bottomless glass of scotch.

Shawn crept stealthily on the balls of his feet like his father had taught him and slowly made his way towards the detective. When he was a couple yards away he called out, "Lassie!"

There was an audible and possibly shaky sigh from the head detective as he put his head in his hands. "Spencer," he growled.

Shawn sat down on the side of the detective's desk and look down at the head of messy salt and pepper hair.

"What's up Lassie?"

"Spencer what are you doing here?" Carlton hissed.

"Better question: what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be done with the paperwork by now?"

Lassiter lifted his head up and his cool blue eyes met hazel ones that were gazing at him in…concern?

"No reason," the detective replied.

Shawn looked at him for another minute and quickly cast a wary gaze around the empty room. Before Carlton could protest, a head of messy brown hair was closing in on him. Inches before their lips met Shawn looked into his eyes and then they kissed. It was a chaste kiss, but Shawn's lips were warm and soft.

Shawn pulled away, red-faced and began to walk away. "You coming Lassie-face? I'll buy you dinner, so you don't have to go home and eat alone," he called behind him. Lassiter dazedly grabbed his coat and followed.


	2. Chapter 2 Dark Dark Night

The rain was pouring down outside and cascading down the windows.

"I want you to like me Shawn."…"I'm gonna write a book." The scene at the drive-in played out in Shawn's head, but this time they were too late to save her.

He woke up screaming for the fifth time that week, and it was only Tuesday. He thought it would get better, but his pristine and precise memory added more fuel to his imagination. He could imagine her lifeless body, because he had seen bodies at countless crime scenes.

It was an image he just couldn't get out of his head. Nowhere felt safe anymore, now that he knew she had been following them. He couldn't go to Psych; she had tainted that too. He felt vulnerable and afraid, which he wasn't accustomed to feeling.

There was only one place he could think of that felt safe, so he hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans and his jacket. He hopped on his motorcycle, already getting wet as the rain continued to pour down.

His mind went into autopilot as he wound down the familiar streets of Santa Barbara. Not too soon afterwards he arrived at the Police Station. He didn't care how strange it looked as he walked down the rows of desks, dripping wet. He ignored the odd stares and finally came to the head detective's desk. He dropped his soaking wet jacket on the ground next to the desk. Without a second thought he pulled out the chair and folded himself up under the table. Now he felt safe. Soon enough, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

"I want those files now!" Detective Lassiter yelled. "I don't care how, just get them to me!" he shouted at the stuttering officer before him. Then he turned around. "McNab!" Buzz looked at him with wide eyes. "Have the lab results come back yet?"

"N-no sir."

"Where are they?"

"I-I'll get them for you!" he yelled as he made his way to his desk.

Lassiter made his way to his desk, but then turned back to Buzz. "McNab!"

"Yes Detective."

"What is this?" Carlton gestured to the soaked pile of leather on the ground next to his chair.

"I think it's Shawn's."

Carlton faltered, remembering the day after his anniversary, but shrugged it off. "What is it doing here?"

"Well sir." Buzz nervously shifted on his feet. "He came in a few minutes ago and he's well…"

"Where is he?" Lassiter snapped.

"He's under your desk sir."

"What is he doing there?"

McNab shrugged and shook his head in confusion.

"Godamnit Spencer! Why are you-" he trailed off as he took in the sight of the wet psychic curled up underneath the desk. He was shivering and his messy wet hair was plastered to his face. His arms were wrapped around his folded up legs. At first glance he looked like he was sleeping peacefully, but the suspicious tear track on his left cheek and the tiny whimpers he was emitting said otherwise.

"No," he murmured. "Mom!" he yelled just before his eyes opened wide, tears streaming out of them. His eyes darted around nervously until they landed on Carlton. "Lassie," he whispered. He hurriedly scrubbed the tears off his face and made as if to get up, but Lassiter stopped him.

"Spencer," he said. He knelt down in front of the younger man. "Shawn," his voice softened. The desk was too small to fit both of them underneath it, so the detective leaned against the desk with his back to Shawn, as if guarding him.

"Are you alright?" Carlton whispered.

"Nightmare," came the weak reply.

Carlton nodded. "Why'd you come here Spencer?"

"'s safe," his voice hitched as he held back a sob.

Lassiter was surprised, but also slightly flattered that the safest place for Shawn was under his desk. It filled him with a pleasant warm feeling. He slowly began to get up, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Please don't leave," Shawn pleaded in a very unShawn-like voice.

"I'm not going anywhere." Slowly the grip on his arm loosened. He got up and sat down, pulling his chair closer to the desk to give Shawn a bit more privacy. A shaky hand reached out and held onto the bottom of one of his pant legs. Shawn clutched at it like a security blanket as he fell asleep again.

Juliet suddenly appeared in front of Lassiter's desk. "I got those files that you…" she trailed off as Carlton raised a finger to his lips to silence her. He slowly slid the chair back to reveal the slumbering Shawn.

"What's wrong with Shawn?" she asked. The stains from tears were still evident on his face.

"Nightmares," Shawn croaked. Lassiter and Juliet both jumped at the sudden reply. Shawn cautiously opened both of his eyes, still clutching Carlton's pant leg. Juliet noticed the hand wrapped around the fabric and smiled at the childishness. Shawn slowly unfolded himself and peered around the desk, carefully and cautiously getting up. He blinked a few times and swayed a little on his feet, but Lassiter steadied him.

"What time is it?" Shawn whispered.

Juliet just gazed dumbly at him, still in shock. "Four am," Carlton said tiredly. "And we still have paperwork to do."

"Four A.M.? 's too early," the psychic slurred. Lassiter couldn't help but notice how adorable he was when he was sleepy. Shawn stretched like a cat. At first it seemed like he was going to walk away but he simply stumbled the few steps to Lassiter's chair and plopped down in his lap. Much to the detective's dismay, the psychic wrapped his arms around his neck and burrowed into his chest, his feet still on the floor. "'m just gonna fall asleep right here, you don't mind, right Lassie?" Shawn clutched at the collar of Lassiter's shirt in uncertainty.

Carlton's only reply was reaching out to rub soothing circles on Shawn's back. Shawn made what sounded suspiciously like a purring sound and whispered, "Thanks Lassie." All the while Juliet watched first in surprise, then amusement.

After that first night at the police station, it became a routine for Shawn to come and sleep near or under Lassiter's desk. It worked out because Lassiter worked nearly every night. One night though, Shawn arrived to find the detective's desk empty. He sat at the desk and waited for a few minutes before Juliet came by.

"Jules!" When she turned he could tell she was upset. "Where's Lassie?"

"He was injured when we were chasing a suspect. The guy was a wrestler. Lassiter held him off for a while and we finally caught him, but he got a bad concussion and he's pretty banged up. He's at home now, against the doctor's orders." She looked at Shawn's crestfallen face and added, "He really shouldn't be alone tonight."

At this Shawn perked up. "Thanks Jules." He practically sprinted out the door and hopped onto his bike. His motorcycle growled as he sped down the darkened Santa Barbara streets. Finally, he found himself at Lassiter's house. He made his way up the stairs and hesitantly knocked. After a while he turned to leave when he heard the click of a lock and the door opened to reveal a rumpled Lassiter with a sling on his left arm and a bruise on his cheek.

"Lassie!" Shawn said with glee. He launched himself at the detective and wrapped his arms around him, avoiding the sling. Lassiter's white shirt was crumpled and his hair was sticking up in all directions. "Are you okay? Jules said you were hurt."

"just a few scratches, but they still hurt, so if you could," he shrugged out of the hug.

"Oh yeah," Shawn said embarrassedly.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't mean to sound gruff, but he had been woken from a peaceful, drug-induced slumber, filled with dreams of pineapples and hazel eyes.

"Sorry, I'll just go," Shawn mumbled. He turned to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

"What is it you want?" Lassiter said with a softer voice.

"I looked for you at the station," he said, eyes downcast, "and I heard that…" he gestured towards the sling.

"Spencer," Lassiter growled softly.

"I was thinking of stopping by for a pineapple smoothie, maybe we could have a James Bond movie marathon." Shawn carefully avoided Lassiter's eyes as he rambled on.

"Shawn!"

"Lassie?" Shawn looked at him with a deer in the headlights gaze.

"Would you like to come in?" the detective said. Shawn dove through the door, which Lassiter shut behind him.

"Thanks Lassie." Shawn looked around, briefly inspecting the mugshots tacked to the wall and then plopped on the couch. "Still haven't changed those mugshots since I was last here? Come on Lassie, you should have caught them by now."

"How did you…?" Lassiter's mouth hung open like a fish.

"Apparently it's my curse," Shawn replied cryptically. Suddenly he looked around him, as if realizing where he was sitting. "I haven't been here since…Drimmer." Lassiter shuddered at the memory of that particular incident. "So…how about that movie marathon?"


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer, why are you here?" Carlton rubbed his eye tiredly and worked to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"I figured it was about time you and I had some man time. You know, you, me, and some very manly movies. That's what Gus and I do when I'm sick. I mean, I know you're not sick, you're hurt, but it's the same principle right?" Shawn's arm movements were erratic as he worked up more and more energy, but Lassiter could see that the psychic detective was exhausted.

"Why are you really here Spencer?" Lassiter struggled to soften his voice, but he thought that the end result was rather comforting sounding.

"I already told you Lassie. It's movie night!"

Lassiter sighed.

"Alright Shawn, if you're going to be like this then I'm going back to bed," Lassiter replied impatiently. Shawn stared dumbly in response. His former energy seemed to leave him and he just stood there forlornly in front of the couch. His shoulders slumped as he realized that Lassiter wasn't joking, and prepared to leave. His hand was touching the doorknob when Lassie called out softly to him.

"Where are you going?"

Shawn didn't dare turn around and instead seemed to slump over even more as he leaned his head against the door.

"I didn't come for a movie night Lassie."

Shawn stiffened as he heard Lassiter chuckle.

"I know," the detective replied.

Suddenly Carlton was placing a hand on the psychic's shoulder and gently nudging him to turn him around.

"I didn't mean for you to leave," Carlton said. He brought his hand away from the man before him and scratched his head nervously. "Listen, I can tell something's up with you. Why don't you stay here?" He held out the blanket in his other hand like a nervous child giving a gift.

Shawn hesitantly took the blanket, all the while his eyes wouldn't meet Lassiter's.

"It's just nightmares," Shawn said with a smile plastered to his face.

The detective considered the man before him. He wanted to ask him about the dreams, because he wanted to know what kept the psychic up for so many nights, but judging from the bags under Shawn's eyes, the man just needed some sleep and not an interrogation.

"Come on Spencer," Lassiter said. In a very uncharacteristic gesture of kindness, the detective put a hand at the small of Shawn's back to guide him. He walked the detective out of the living room, shutting off the lamp on the way out. They made their way down the darkened hallway, Shawn nearly swaying on his feet. When they got to Lassiter's bedroom Carlton made his way to the closet and got into his pajamas. It was only when he was ready for bed that he noticed Shawn hesitating by the doorway.

"You can't get any sleep from over there, Spencer," Lassiter said in mock annoyance. He walked over and again guided Shawn, like a child. The psychic laid down on the bed and curled up under the soft blankets. Carlton considered sleeping on the couch for a moment, but his arm still ached from earlier scuffle. He vaguely recalled a scene in a movie when a man brought an injured woman back to his house and just as he was leaving her in the bed to sleep, she begged him to stay and keep her safe. He nearly snorted, but then he noticed Shawn peering up at him cautiously from under his eyelashes.

"Go to sleep Spencer," he commanded.

The mattress sunk down as he got into bed as well and the warm covers surrounded him. Just as he began to feel his eyelids grow heavy, a warm body scooted closer to him and Shawn's head settled somewhere near his shoulder.


End file.
